


we've got magic to do

by spacenarwhal



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenarwhal/pseuds/spacenarwhal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When this is over,” Foggy starts, interrupted by a long yawn that almost cracks his jaw, “We’re never having sex again.”</p>
<p>Matt nods, eyes slipping shut, "Fair enough."</p>
            </blockquote>





	we've got magic to do

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mildly dubious consent on account of the sex pollen of it all. Additionally, warnings for the flagrant abuse of commas, parenthetical asides, flashbacks, and dashes. You know the usual when it comes to my fics.

“I can’t feel my legs.” Foggy groans. 

Somewhere near his hip, Matt snuffles indistinctly. 

“Huh?” Foggy asks, utterly ineloquent, keeps his eyes closed against the sunlight still spilling into the living room. “You’ve got to invest in curtains, buddy.” Foggy had panted two and half rounds prior, when their trip to the kitchen for water had gone completely off the rails and ended with Foggy bent over the back of Matt’s couch, fully aware that the people in the building opposite could totally see and too far gone to give a damn. 

Foggy moves his jaw, wonders if it’s possible to sprain your tongue. Maybe he should have called Claire after all, but Matt had been all hands and desperation when he’d crawled into bed after his patrol, already naked and hard against Foggy’s thigh. He’d mumbled an explanation that hadn’t really explain much of anything, swooped in and kissed Foggy so fiercely, like he was hungry for it. He’d swept his tongue past Foggy’s lips, his mouth cloyingly sweet with something that left Foggy lightheaded. Matt had managed, “Danny,” and “plant” and “want you so much”, grinding and panting and begging Foggy to touch him. And it had been like Foggy’s brain had shut off, all the blood in his body burning hot in an instant, rushing south so quickly that his dick actually hurt as it filled. “Please, please, please.” Matt had kissed into Foggy’s skin, and Foggy hadn’t known what to do but rub up against Matt as best he could while Matt rode his thigh until he spilled hot against Foggy’s skin. Foggy had come inside his underwear like an inexperienced teenager rounding second base, torn apart by the desperate noise Matt made when he came. 

It wasn’t until after Matt had come two more times, once in Foggy’s hand and once riding him like he was going for first place at the Kentucky Derby (“Fuck me, fuck me, oh, fuh-ck, don’t stop.” He’d chanted as his thighs flexed and his hips slammed down over and over again, and Foggy had just clung to him, unable to catch his breath long enough to point out that Matt was a hundred percent the one doing the fucking), that he’d been able to say, “There was a room, full of plants, I don’t know what they were, but they smelled so sweet, _I_ —” and Foggy had felt him growing hard against his hip all over again, and had been almost as insane to witness as it was for Foggy to feel his own cock twitch with renewed interest.

Foggy’s lost track of how long they’ve been here. Here on the floor between the living room and the kitchen, sticky and sore, here in Matt’s apartment, here in this fever dream of skin and sweat and sex. It must be hours, but it could just as easily be days, being eaten from the inside out by the prickly heat that surges throughout his limbs. It’s slowed a little, since this Matt first kissed him, but it’s still there, still buzzing and tingling all over his skin, pulling it tight whenever he thinks about it (about Matt and Matt’s face and Matt’s hands and Matt’s— _everything_. Just everything). Right, Foggy remembers vaguely, that’s why he hadn’t called Claire in on this one. 

Matt’s sweat-damp hair brushes against his side. “I feel disgusting.” He whines, like he does every time they come back to themselves long enough to register things like thirst and exhaustion and how sore their lips are. They’d tired showering after the fifth (sixth?) orgasm but that had just ended with Foggy blowing Matt in the shower and shampoo in his eyes. 

He groans again, slaps his hand across his face to keep his eyes covered, like sex’s some kind of gorgon he can protect himself from by keeping his eyes shielded. “Wanna try showering again? I mean, by yourself this time?”

Matt snorts, sucks in a short puff of air that Foggy can feel drag over his skin. “I was supposed to be by myself last time too.” His voice is rough (Matt is always so vocal, every time, no matter how quiet he tries to be in the beginning. Not that he’s been trying at all today. Foggy will literally never be able to look any of Matt’s neighbors in the eye ever again). 

Foggy reaches down with the hand not currently covering his eyes. Matt sighs when Foggy’s fingers slip through his hair, Foggy feels the shiver that runs through Matt’s body when he scratches at his scalp. “Please, you left the door wide open.” He hasn’t tried to deny it yet, but Foggy is a hundred and ten percent positive that Matt did that on purpose, that he knew Foggy would follow. There was no ignoring that weird achy heat that sprang up from deep in his belly, that made everything sharp and soft and too much and not enough all at once. Why else would Matt have been waiting for him, one hand wrapped around his dick already, moaning Foggy’s name before Foggy had even pulled open the shower door. 

Matt bites at his hipbone, teeth dragging across the thin skin there so gently it kicks that buzzy feeling off with vigor, makes Foggy feel like he’s got honey bees tap dancing across his nerve endings. Matt presses a kiss to the same spot and only manages to make it worse. 

“I—” Matt starts, and Foggy wonders if he can hear it, the metaphorical bees trapped under his skin. Buzz, buzz, buzz.

(“Do you know what you _smell_ like?” Matt had gasped hours, days, before, pressing Foggy down into the mattress while he thrusts into Foggy’s fist. “God, Foggy, I can— I want you so much—I can—I can hear your heart, every time I—I touch you, like it’s calling for me. You want me too.” And if Foggy hadn’t been seconds away from coming in his underwear _again_ he would have taken a second to tease Matt for what was still a mostly creepy and occasionally gross brand of romance. Instead he’d crushed his mouth against Matt’s, sucked in as deep a breath as he could and said, “I want you, I want you—I love you Matty, so fucking much.”)

Matt doesn’t even finish the thought, already moving, hands on Foggy’s thighs, spreading them wider. Foggy doesn’t look, can’t look (doesn’t have to look, honestly, the sight of Matt, fucked and desperate ingrained his brain from now through the rest of eternity). But he can feel it, the quick shift of blood until he’s hard again, his dick curving up towards his own belly in anticipation just before Matt’s mouth sinks over him without any kind of prelude. 

“Oh fuck.” He moans, hand still buried in Matt’s hair, clenching tight and holding on while Matt’s mouth moves up and bobs back down, tongue flat against the underside of Foggy’s cock. It’s messy and noisy and lacks the finesse Matt usually prides himself on when he’s giving head and Foggy babbles carelessly the whole while, thrusts upwards, again and again, into the wet heat of Matt’s mouth. “Matty—fuck, fuck, Matty your mouth, your mouth is—oh.” He gasps, writhes on the edge of another orgasm, fingers yanking at Matt’s hair until he pulls off. 

Matt swallowed the last time he did this and the face he’d made when he came back to himself set Foggy cackling for minutes, sure, but right now Foggy still has sense enough to save Matt from himself. Jizz isn’t anyone’s favorite ice cream flavor, Foggy doesn’t even want to image how bad it must be for Matt.

Matt makes a soft sound, like not having Foggy’s dick in his mouth any more is an unbearable disappointment. Foggy makes a ragged noise he hopes comes across as sympathetic. He remembers how it felt to have Matt in his mouth, heavy on his tongue, water falling hard over his shoulders and the shower floor biting into his knees. How incredible it had been when Matt had twisted his fingers in his hair and pulled, harder than he usually allowed himself, sent sparks of twisty-tangled _want_ through Foggy’s body and down to his own cock, hard again despite everything that had led up to then. Matt’s hand had trembled against the side of Foggy’s face, thumb gently pressing against the corner of Foggy’s lips where they were stretched around his cock, thighs shaking in Foggy’s grip. When he’d come, bitter and sudden in Foggy’s throat, Foggy’s name had echoed off the shower walls. Foggy’d moaned around Matt’s still twitching dick, hips snapping desperately forward into his own fist until he came, heat seizing his insides so strongly he thought that that had to be it, that there couldn’t be anything left inside him after that. Boy, had he been wrong. 

(Matt is absolutely, positively, never helping Danny with anything ever again unless someone with an iota of common sense is present to keep them in check). 

Foggy’s dick slaps wet against his stomach, and Matt licks at the head one more time before he follows the insistent tug on his hair, starts making his way up Foggy’s body. Matt kisses and licks and bites a path up the length of Foggy’s torso, presses his chest against Foggy’s once he’s settled into place, all compact muscle and scarred skin, kisses at Foggy’s collarbone and his neck and bites at his jaw. Foggy uncovers his eyes, blinks against the golden light that fills the room as the sun begins its descent over the city. He gazes up at Matt’s flushed face and his red lips, scratches his fingers through the course stubble that darkens his jaw line (there’s beard burn on the insides of Foggy’s thighs and on his back and on his chest and anywhere and everywhere Matt’s felt compelled to make his mark). 

It’s impossible to forget that Matt’s body is a weapon, that he uses it to beat men bloody, but to Foggy it’ll always be Matt’s first, human and fragile and capable of so much feeling. Matt arches up into the press of Foggy’s palms on his back, rubs his own erection against Foggy’s thigh, gasping into Foggy’s shoulder when Foggy ruts up against him in return.

“You should fuck me now.” Foggy pants, teeth catching on Matt’s lower lip, and Matt groans somewhere in his chest, seals his lips over Foggy’s and kisses him breathless all over again. 

Foggy flings his arm out, paws around the floor until his hand closes around their significantly emptier bottle of lube. Matt buries his face against Foggy’s throat and Foggy knows he’s going to be wearing scarves for the rest of the summer. There’s no way even Karen’s best work with concealer is going to cut it this time. “Condom.” Foggy wheezes, pushing at Matt’s shoulder with one hand and trying to flip the cap on the lube open with the other. “Matty— _condom_.” They’ve already had one close call too many. It had been so tempting with Matt sprawled beneath him, hips rolling against the bed as he rubbed over the sheets, thighs shaking and so tight as Foggy thrust between them. It would have been easy to push Matt flat, to spread his thighs and fuck him with nothing between them, and Christ, Matt would have let him. But whether because Foggy’s exposure to whatever the fuck it is that has Matt wrecked was secondhand or because Foggy swore to himself, after the clusterfuck of a reveal they survived, that he would never again do anything with Matt without careful deliberation, there was still enough of him left intact to know that he shouldn’t, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

Matt pulls away with a pained sound, crawls on hands and knees over to the couch where they left the box of condoms earlier. Foggy takes the opportunity to watch Matt’s ass as he goes, because that was always a sight to enjoy, wets his fingers and lifts his hips. He’s sore, so he presses carefully, hisses through the initial sting that is definitely going to suck tomorrow. It isn’t long before the sting fades, buried under the sharp, hot twist of his insides. Matt whines, drops his head against the couch and sucks in a deep breath, reaches down and grabs his dick. “Foggy.” He groans and Foggy shamelessly speeds up, movements sloppy and imprecise, knows Matt can hear it all.

“Save it for confession Matthew,” Foggy huffs, pushing back against his fingers—it isn’t enough, no matter how good it feels, it is not enough—”Put on the glove and get to the lovin’ would you.” His voice cracks at the end, fractures around a gasp, “Fuck, Matt, I need—” Matt growls in response. There’s the crinkle of the condom wrapper and Foggy squeezes his eyes closed again, feels his heart thundering through every cell in his body. Matt finally shuffles back, takes his place between Foggy’s spread legs, dick nudging against the back of Foggy’s thigh, rocks against him without any kind of rhythm for a few teasing seconds.

“Matt, Matt—” Foggy babbles, shifting against him until Matt’s fingers dig into Foggy’s thighs, pushes them wider and pulls Foggy flush against his lap. Matt’s eyes are unfocused but Foggy feels pinned under the weight of them regardless, lost in the helpless expression on Matt’s face as he pushes forward, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside. “Foggy.” Matt sighs, pulling back and thrusting back in, pace bordering on graceless, fingers squeezing to the point of bruising. “Fuh—fuck, Foggy, you’re so good—you’re—you’re beautiful.” 

And that’s definitely the sex talking, perfectly in line with Matt’s usual sex-addled declarations, but it incites a different kind of heat in Foggy’s chest, something soft and fond that would make Foggy go weak in the knees if he wasn’t already flat on his back with his knees hiked up around Matt’s sides.

Foggy runs his hands up Matt’s chest, over his shoulders and down the length of his arms, feels Matt shudder over and against and inside him. He rocks back as best he can, tries to meet Matt thrust for thrust, heat twisting low in his belly and yet nowhere near enough. 

“Matt,” his voice is ruined, breathless and low, “Matt, wait.” Matt jerks to a stop, buried deep, swallowing noisy mouthfuls of air. 

“Did I hurt you—are you okay—” Matt asks, face red and sweaty and gorgeous. Foggy nods uselessly, “So okay buddy, a-plus, but can I, fuck Matt, I wanna ride you, can I—”

Matt’s face contorts, inelegant and fairly unattractive but Foggy’s got those love goggles that make all of Matt’s faces works of art, even as he’s pulling out, leaving Foggy aching and empty. 

His hands shake as he helps Foggy up, squeeze at his waist and stomach and ass as Foggy slicks Matt with more lube, holds him steady and then lowers himself back onto Matt’s dick. He watches Matt’s face the whole while. Matt’s mouth falls open around a soundless moan, eyes clenched shut as Foggy starts to fuck himself in earnest. Matt was obviously on to something all those rounds ago when he climbed onto Foggy’s lap and rode him into the mattress. He feels so full, Matt’s cock thick and so hot as he rock up and drops back down, it’s enough to ignore the soreness in his knees and the burning in his thighs and the fact that he is never going to be able to move from the waist down ever again after this.

Matt’s fingers squeeze at his ass, run down his legs. He looks so lovely, lost in his own pleasure, Foggy can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to his red mouth. Oh, fuck. The angle changes, Matt’s dick dragging over Foggy’s prostate, and Foggy feels the tight twist of heat literally throughout his entire body. He groans into Matt’s mouth, squeezes involuntarily around him, and Matt actually _mewls_ , hands tightening at Foggy’s hips and holding him in place while he grinds his hips upward. 

He can’t keep up the pretense of kissing any more, hides his face against Matt’s neck as he shudders and shakes and finally comes in messy streaks over Matt’s stomach and chest. Matt thrusts erratically for a few seconds longer, sends shivery, bright shocks of pleasure through Foggy’s spent body that he can’t help but rock into, moaning softly when he feels Matt twitch inside him and finally come. 

They lay a boneless, panting mess on the floor for a few minutes afterward. Foggy’s legs shake as he slides off Matt, the floorboards blessedly cool beneath his sweaty back. The first thought that comes back to him is how they’re going to have to disinfect the entire apartment when this if finally over. 

“Five stars.” Foggy mumbles. Matt laughs breathlessly at his side. 

-

They finally get their water.

They even manage to scarf down some of the gross compost tasting energy bars Matt keeps on hand, two each, and another glass of water after. Foggy digs an apple out of Matt’s vegetable drawer, cuts off the bruised bits and slices it clean down the middle. Matt’s hungry enough that he doesn’t complain about the taste of it, though maybe the taste of an apple well past its prime is nothing compared to the rest of today. 

They stumble back to the bedroom after some more water, release twin groans as they collapse onto the ruined sheets. 

“We’re gonna to have to burn these.” Matt says somewhat sadly, stretching out across the mattress, and Foggy remembers why he wasn’t supposed to look at him for too long. The prickly heat isn’t back yet, the lapsed periods lasting a little bit longer now, but Foggy can feel it lurking just around the corner waiting to strike again. 

“When this is over,” Foggy starts, interrupted by a long yawn that almost cracks his jaw, “We’re never having sex again.” 

Matt nods, eyes slipping shut, rolling on his side towards Foggy. He reaches out and touches Foggy after a second’s quick hesitation, like he’s afraid skin to skin contact will start everything up all over again. But it doesn’t evolve past the softest hum deep beneath Foggy’s skin and Foggy pulls him closer, arm around Matt’s shoulders as Matt burrows into his side. Matt sniffles against Foggy’s chest, “Fair enough.” He says softly, already mostly asleep. 

Foggy nods, lets his eyes close, “Glad we reached this agreement.”

Matt starts to snore. 

Foggy presses a quick kiss to his forehead and closes his eyes. 

-

The End

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's wondering about the identity of the Danny mentioned in this story, it's supposed to be the one and only Danny Rand aka Iron Fist. 
> 
> I may have written the majority of this fic on a white wine evening, but I promise I edited sober. Mostly. 
> 
> Title from an episode of _Gilmore Girls_ because I couldn't title it _Matt and Foggy Have A Ludicrous Amount of Sex_.


End file.
